The Return of the Forgotten
by Volmaaral
Summary: First Fanfiction. An old power, long forgotten, has been inadvertently unleashed upon the world. A power that the Dovahkiin alone cannot defeat. But who has the courage to stand at his side against this threat, which makes Alduin's return and fall look like a minor event in comparison? Multiple Player Characters.
1. Prologue

**Before the story starts, remember that this is my first fanfic. This is intended to be a rather long one, but that depends on how well I do, based upon your reviews. I already can guess at a few complaints, I know I tend to be a little too descriptive, but it's a habit I'm going to try to shake as time goes on. This prologue is mostly an experiment, for me to get used to writing in a different way from the essays I'm used to doing for college. So if you want a lot of action, you won't be getting it from this chapter. In the following ones, however, I intend to change that. But for now, just let me know what I need to fix, or change, for the next chapters. And yes, I am keeping these characters unnamed for a reason, though I may change my mind later.**

***Updated* Based on the review I was given, I have moderately modified this chapter, though I am still unsure if I fixed all the problems or not. Also, I know this is rather boring for a beginning chapter. That's how it usually goes, and you can skip it if you so desire. As I said, this chapter was an experiment to get used to writing ****fan fiction, and it merely sets the scene.**

The Return of the Forgotten

Prologue

"Have you finished yet?"

"No."

"Well, you may want to hurry, the Briarheart will be coming around soon," said the first man. He was a Breton of short stature, with a surprisingly, at least for a Breton, strong physical build.

The other man, a Nord of high stature and incredible strength, who had been digging with increasingly obvious fatigue and desperation into the rock wall of Kolskeggr Mine, turned towards his fellow captive miner, eyes narrowed to slits with frustration and annoyance, and lowering his pickaxe for a moment to rest.

"You're welcome to come try this yourself, you know, if you think that you can dig any faster."

Raising an eyebrow and leaning back against a wooden support beam, arms folded, the Breton calmly replied, "I've already done what I was ordered to do, and I was mining for an hour before you arrived. And you know they have an individual quota for each of us, enforced by that Forsworn guard over there." Nodding at the Forsworn in question, who was sitting at a chair he had moved to better see them, and make sure that they were doing what they were supposed to.

Noticing the movement, the Forsworn looked up from his book, _The Legend of Red Eagle_, and stared right at them for a few seconds, then went back to reading.

A shiver ran down both the captives' spines, as always. The fanatical intensity behind the eyes of their Forsworn captors was always frightening to behold.

Looking back at the Breton, the Nord said "I have _been _trying for awhile, but every vein I mine, I get next to no gold ore out of. It's ridiculous, almost as if the divines and princes themselves are trying to make damn sure that I can't make the quota." As he said this, to emphasize his point, he had picked up his pickaxe and was swinging it with an incredible amount of ferocity at every pause in the sentence, the memory of that intense gaze first and foremost in his mind. He knew if he didn't meet the quota, he would certainly die, and most likely in an extremely unpleasant way, if the mutilated bodies of previous captives who failed to meet the quota was any indication.

The Breton replied, saying "You may want to go to the western side, it was where I was mining, and it was fairly rich in ore. Also, I can't directly help you mine, but I can soften the rock over there with a shock spell before-" suddenly he paused mid-sentence, and frowned. "Hey, can you hear that?"

Without pausing in his personal war against the unforgiving rock, the Nord asked "Hear what? But first, what was that you were saying about richer veins you can soften-" Then he stopped as well, noticing something odd. "Wait a minute, the way this rock is vibrating…..it feels like there's an empty space behind it."

Stepping away from the support beam, the Breton moved towards the heavily abused ore vein that had been the source and recipient of the Nord's frustrations. "Yeah, that's what I was about to say, though rather than feeling it, I can HEAR a hollow sound when you hit the rock." Waving the Nord away for a moment, he put his ear to the rock, and drawing his hammer he used to repair his cart, started to tap the rock.

The Nord watched with even more frustration than before. "I really don't have time for this. I need to fill my quota, we can find out what's behind that rock later. Otherwise I'll be dead. And I'd rather not be dead. It makes discovering if there is treasure or something behind a random ore vein rather difficult."

The Breton ignored him, focusing on what he was doing, when he suddenly said, "Yes, this is definitely hollow. Here, how about you go mine at that ore vein over there. It had a fair amount of gold, and I didn't mine it all out. It should still be fairly weakened by the amount of shock spells I hit it with anyway. I'll see if I can't get through to this hollow area." Putting away his hammer and drawing his pickaxe, he started to strike the ore vein, before stopping after a few seconds and saying, "You weren't kidding. This one IS pretty tough. I'll have to soften it up a bit."

Raising his left hand, while still holding his pickaxe in his right, the Breton called up a Shock spell into his left hand, and began to blast the vein, using the concentrated stream of energy to soften the rock. Meanwhile, the Forsworn looked up at the commotion once more, and frowned at what he was doing, but saw that the Nord had picked up his pick and, following the Breton's advice, had gone to the indicated vein to try for more ore. Shrugging, the Forsworn guard, once again, returned to his reading, remembering the Breton having done it before, though wondering why he was mining again when he had already filled his quota.

After having shocked the vein for a minute or so, the Breton returned to striking it with the pickaxe. For about thirty minutes, the rock yet refused to give in to his endeavors, but finally, there was the sound of crumbling rock, and the vein gave in, collapsing outwards, with the Breton swiftly jumping out of the way of the heavy rocks, preferring not to have one break his toes.

Now the Forsworn looked up, and noticing with surprise the sudden appearance of a hole in the wall, closed his book, and got up to go over to the Breton, who was looking through the new hole, waving his hand in an attempt to clear the dusty, stale air.

Walking up next to the Breton, he asked, "What happens here?" Surprised, the Breton recoiled, turning to the source of the voice quickly. When he noticed the Forsworn staring at him from about 2 feet away, he was afraid he was about to die, when the words said by the guard finally registered.

Calming down somewhat, knowing that his life wasn't in immediate danger, he replied, "I noticed when the Nord was digging here that it sounded hollow, so I decided to direct him to another vein while I find out what is behind the vein. It looks like-" Turning back to stick his head partially through and look around a bit more to reaffirm his suspicion, he then resumed what he was saying, "yeah, it looks like it goes into the corner of some kind of passageway. While odd in itself, what's even stranger is that I don't recognize the structural design in the slightest. It looks to be even older than Nordic ruins-"

Before he could go into any more detail, the Forsworn raised a hand, cutting him off. "First, we should wait until the Briarheart comes down here to ensure you have fulfilled your quotas. Then I shall ask him if we can organize an exploration team. In the meantime, stay away from here. I'll not have you, or that Nord, especially, using this as a possible escape route."

The Breton was close to arguing, since he was eager to see what was in there, but then he recalled who he was talking to, and despite the calm way the guard had been speaking, he knew from just looking him in his zealous eyes, that arguing with him was NOT a good idea. Even if he was a Breton, which makes up the majority of Forsworn forces, he would almost certainly be beheaded. He had seen it happen.

So, he did what he was told, and backed off. The Forsworn guard stared him in the eye to make sure he would obey, and satisfied, went back to his chair, to wait for the arrival of the Briarheart. Meanwhile, the Breton, remembering, looked over at the Nord, and noticed with a grin he had managed to nearly fill his cart already. He must have hit even more gold than the Breton had expected. Good. He had seen enough death to last a few dozen lifetimes, at the very least.

Sitting down on a chair some distance from the hole, the Breton sat, and waited for the Briarheart to arrive.

-One-Hour Later-

When the Briarheart finally entered the area of the mine that the Breton and Nord had been commanded to dig in, the two miners had just fallen asleep, thinking he had gotten too consumed in his potion making to remember to check to make sure they had fulfilled their quota. And the guard was still reading his book, right up until he saw the Briarheart enter out of the corner of his eye, at which he swiftly closed the book and laid it on the table, ready for any commands that may be given.

Looking around, the Briarheart affirmed that the miners had done what they were supposed to, noting the mine carts full of gold ore. However, when his eyes fell on the hole in the wall, he stared blankly at it for a second, then he turned to the Forsworn who had been guarding the captive miners.

The Forsworn shivered at the eye-to-eye contact. While many not of the Forsworn knew that the Briarhearts are granted immense power at having the briarheart implanted in them, many didn't know exactly what the cost exacted upon them was; namely their will, and their lives. The Briarhearts are walking puppets of the Hagravens who implanted the false hearts, and when speaking with one, you were not speaking to the individual whose body stood before you, but through him, to the Hagraven herself.

"How did that happen?" said the Briarheart, pointing at the new hole in the wall.

The guard composed himself, knowing that it was foolish to show fear before a Briarheart. If one didn't seem strong of will, and devoted to the cause, then the Forsworn has no use for you, and since he himself was a Warlord, appearing that way would not bode well for him. "Around one hour ago, one of the captives discovered a passageway hidden behind the ore vein he was digging at."

"Neither made an attempt to escape through the passageway?"

"No, if they had, they would be dead, and they know it. However, they are eager, at least the Breton was eager, to see what might be there. He said something about how the passageway appears to be even older than the ancient Nord tombs."

That got the Briarheart's attention, or rather, the attention of the Hagraven that was controlling him. A well-known fact about the Hagravens was their intense interest in ancient, forgotten, and forbidden magics and artifacts.

"Gather the others, we are going to see where this passage leads."

Jumping to his feet, the Forsworn immediately went to do what he was ordered, even at his very high rank of Warlord, the Briarheart commanded obedience. But the Briarheart stopped him. "And wake those two up. They will be coming with us. They are the only two left anyway."

Looking back, the guard asked, "None of the others met the quota?"

"No."

-Half an Hour Later-

There were around thirty-five total Forsworn in the mine when the guard was done. The reason for the massive numbers was due to the Dragonborn having torn through Kolskeggr mine before, slaughtering the previous group of around 10, and restoring the mine to it's previous owner, Pavo Attius, and his fellow miner Gat gro-Shargakh. After a month however, the current group raided the mine once again. Using the new miners that had come to the mine as virtual slaves, and capturing more passing by on the road, they swiftly turned the mine into a fortress, knowing that the Dragonborn or other aspiring hero will likely come again to drive the Forsworn out. It has been two months since their return, and to their utter surprise, it has been rather peaceful. However, they kept the group at its full strength, knowing that they would need them all if the Dragonborn returned. Meanwhile, fifty prisoners had died during the course of their stay. While few had died at the beginning, more and more were killed as they failed to meet the quota, what with the mine itself running low on ore to mine out, culminating in the five that had been killed this day alone.

It wouldn't be long before they had to move on, and many of the Forsworn were glad to have something to do, after the two months of frustrating boredom, being incapable of raiding Nordic and Imperial caravans in their bid to keep the mine bunkered down. So when they heard of the mysterious hidden passageway, they jumped at the chance for exploration.

Meanwhile, in the front of the Forsworn crowd stood the two captives.

Glancing sidelong at his fellow miner, the Nord said, "You just had to find out what was behind that ore vein, didn't you."

The Breton raised an eyebrow, asking "What? Would you rather have waited till the mine was stripped of everything, and we were killed? I decided to indulge my curiosity, since I figured I might very well not get the chance later. And now, at least, we aren't making our arms numb swinging them at rock that seems determined not to break. It's a nice change."

"If by 'nice change' you mean the thirty heavily armed Forsworn standing all around us, then you must have had one harsh life, my friend."

The Breton shrugged, "They have no intention on killing us just yet, at least, not they themselves. I imagine they're going to use us as a handy way to see if there are traps."

"Forget what I said about harsh, if this is a 'nice change' to you, then what Plane of Oblivion have you grown up in?"

"Riften Ratway."

Surprised, the Nord looked at him for a second before apologizing, "Ah. Sorry I asked. But if _that's_ where you're from, how do you speak so well? And know magic?"

Shrugging again, the Breton explained, "Got taken in by a mage when I was twelve, because I had been able to self-teach myself some magic using some old spell tomes I had discovered in the room, if you can call it that, of some old woman. Likely she was a witch who had been trapped down there, if the immense number of alchemical ingredients and tomes was any indication, and her reclusive nature. Basically, I managed to get pretty good at it, good enough to repel a couple of thugs using the basic shock spell, when I had needed to go near the surface to get food. The mage saw this, though why he was in the Ratway I do not know to this day. Anyway, let's just say he was impressed enough to take me in as his apprentice, teaching me how to use spells to a greater degree and effect, and taught me how better to read, write and speak. I could read before, obviously, though I was rather slow, and before then I had never needed to write. He died four years later, before he could teach me all he knew. I had guessed it would happen, as he was very old. I found work at Left Hand Mine for several years, and then got sent here. What about you?"

Mimicking the Breton, the Nord simply shrugged, saying, "I've had a relatively simple life, particularly in comparison to yours, I grew up in the Bannered Mare with my aunt, Hulda. Helped around a bit, though I preferred heavier, better paying work, as I got older. I got work at Iron-Breaker Mine in Dawnstar, though eventually I started working at other mines over time. Even though I'm a Nord, I still about froze in that mine. Eventually, when this mine returned to business after the Dragonborn cleared it, I wound up here."

Suddenly, both of them quickly stopped all conversation, along with the Forsworn, who had also been talking behind them, wondering at what was behind the wall.

The Briarheart was looking at them all, ready to give them orders.

Satisfied that it had sufficiently quieted down, the Briarheart spoke, "I need five volunteer guards, to keep watch while we're away.

A few stepped forward, thinking about how there might be traps that the first group will run into, and deciding to wait till later to explore the passageway.

"Good, now, all other Forsworn, follow me. And bring the captives."

Turning, he walked straight through the hole.

Immediately after, most of the Forsworn, including the Nord and the Breton, followed.

It was a decision all of them would come to regret, but by then it was far too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait between the Prologue and this chapter, I've been fairly preoccupied with my college classes, and at other times I just didn't have any ideas, but here it is, finally. Reader discretion is advised, as it will get pretty descriptive in terms of gore later on. Also, I doubt that this is really important, as it's pretty obvious, but I've noticed other authors do this, so, here's the pointlessly obvious disclaimer. I do not own any facet of the Elder Scrolls series; the only thing I lay claim to is this story and the characters and events within it that I created. That is all, and I hope you enjoy.**

The Return of the Forgotten

Ch. 1: The Awakening (Part One)

As soon as they stepped into the passageway, every single member of the exploration party could tell that _something _was wrong. All of them immediately broke into a cold sweat, and they all had this powerful urge to turn back, and run away. The only reason they didn't was because they knew that the Briarheart would strike them down before they had gone ten steps if they displayed such cowardice. The passageway was, as the Breton had said, clearly far older than any of the Nordic tombs. The walls were made of a dark, grayish brick that had long since started deteriorating, the floors, under all the dust, appeared to be made of ebony (a rather rare and expensive material to be used for floors…), and what torches in the passageway that were intact, appeared to be made of obsidian. Rather odd, in itself, as obsidian, while not extremely rare, had never, as far as any of them knew, been used in construction before, especially not in something like _this_. However, this was just a mild curiosity in the minds of the Forsworn group, as all of their eyes were drawn to what was etched upon the walls.

While much of it had worn away, what was left depicted mountains of corpses, blood-soaked battlefields, and the souls of the fallen screaming for release. Even this, however, would not have been enough to inflict such terror upon the group. What truly scared them was this odd, unshakable feeling that they were being _watched_, and that whatever was doing the watching was most definitely far stronger than any of them, and that whatever it was did not appreciate their intrusion upon it's domain.

Immediately, the Briarheart raised a hand and cast a Detect Life spell. Seeing nothing, besides his own group, he switched to Detect Undead.

Still nothing.

Canceling the spell, and raising his torch, the Briarheart turned to his group.

"Before you ask, no, I could detect nothing. There are no living, and no undead, in these ruins, at least none that my spells could reveal." There was an audible sigh of relief from the Forsworn at that revelation, and the captive Nord and Breton both relaxed slightly, though remained wary as the Briarheart continued, "Nevertheless, stay on the alert. We will split into two groups of 15 in order to cover more ground quickly, however, you MUST stick with your group. I am tired of hearing of random fools who get separated from the main group or don't have at least one other person watching their back, and get taken by surprise and killed in just this sort of situation. Eleron, you will manage the other group, pick who will be going with you, however _I _will be bringing the captives with me."

Nodding, Eleron, the Forsworn who had been guarding the captives earlier, quickly made his choices. Before long, he had a group that was composed of 3 Archers, 4 Looters, 3 Pillagers, 3 Ravagers, 1 Shaman, and he himself, a Warlord.

Looking back to the Briarheart to affirm that he had finished choosing, the Briarheart gave him a curt nod, and immediately started off down the right-hand passage, torch held high, with his own group of 2 Archers, 4 Foragers, 4 Pillagers, 5 Ravagers, and both the Nord and the Breton following closely behind. A minute later, Eleron set off down the other path with his group.

An hour into the unknown ruins, the group, led by Eleron, stopped.

The passage beyond that point was blocked by rubble, and all of the doors leading up to this point either were locked by some unseen mechanism, or were also blocked.

One of his Looters turned to him, "What do we do now? None of these damned doors will open, and now we've run into a dead end!"

Barely glancing at him, Eleron said, "Calm down, we just need to head back now. We'll try these doors again later, when we have someone more versed in this sort of thing. Be thankful we've only been walking for one hour, and that there has been no branching paths away, at least that we could follow."

And so, the group turned, and began to head back the way they came.

They had only walked for five minutes, when they realized something was wrong.

A Ravager spoke up, "Didn't we take a left here? And I don't recall this corridor going so far in one direction…"

Eleron replied, "Again, calm down. It's more than likely some Illusion magic they use as a defense, to confuse us. Just continue to walk straight."

They continued in relative silence, as many in the Forsworn trusted Eleron's judgment, for he was well known for keeping a calm head in even the most horrific of situations, and for carefully analyzing the situation and coming up with an efficient strategy to overcome it. As such, there were no complaints, and the only sound that accompanied them was their own fur boots scuffing the floor of the corridor.

After about ten more minutes, they were beginning to get a little scared; there had not been one turn the entire time, when before they were turning once every other minute.

Eleron spoke up once more, "As I thought, it's some form of magic. I may have to throw out my Illusion theory though. I get the feeling this may be Alteration. Notice the walls; the murals are repeating themselves every minute or so, as if the same corridor was copied and put into a straight line."

Another Looter asked, "And what does that mean?"

Looking back at him, Eleron said, "Simple, now we turn around. More than likely we triggered some mechanism that activated the spell, and it won't let us leave until we find it."

After they turned around, they were all, save Eleron, shocked, for after less than a minute of walking, they found themselves before the rubble that had stopped them before.

Eleron crossed his arms and said, "Well, I hope you have all been keeping in shape. Looks like whatever we need to find is behind this rubble. Shaman!"

Taken aback, the Shaman replied, "Yes?"

"Use your shock spells to break up the larger pieces of rubble, I noticed one of our captives, a Breton like us, doing the same thing to soften up the ore veins he was mining. Shame he isn't actually one of us. You possess stronger shock spells, so you should be a bit better at it. Then the rest of us will get to moving them out of the way."

"Ah. Good plan. May I ask why we didn't do this before?"

Eleron calmly replied, "Simple. It'd be easier if we had the pickaxes from the mine. That's why we were heading back. Also, the Briarheart has mastered the school of destruction on top of dual wielding. He could clear it even faster than you. As it is, it'll likely take about thirty minutes, if we work hard. So, let's get to work."

True to his prediction, it took around thirty minutes of backbreaking work to clear it (though it was greatly helped by the shock spells, it was made of a tougher material than expected, and the Shaman just couldn't regenerate magicka fast enough. Even with this complication, they still managed to clear it in record time.).

They were all extremely tired, however, and had consumed a few stamina potions as they worked.

Looking over his group and noticing their exhaustion, Eleron said, "You all rest here, I will scout ahead. If I don't return in ten minutes, then follow after me, and remember to stick together. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but if something can kill or trap even ME, then you had best be extremely cautious. Just be sure to check your targets. If I'm still alive, I'd rather not be shot."

Looking up at him in surprise, one of the Pillagers said, "But you worked with us, and put even more effort into it than most of us. We can tell you're just as tired as us, so you should really wait-"

Eleron's response was quick and to the point, "No, we need to hurry. We ran into a trap, and there's rarely just one. Meaning the others might be in trouble of their own."

With that, he turned and swiftly walked through the now cleared-of-rubble hallway.

Right after he turned the first corner a minute in (Eleron sighed in relief at this sign the unknown magic wasn't applying to him now.), he was confronted by the sight of a large, heavy-looking door, which looked to be made of solid ebony inscribed with many macabre scenes (at this, his sigh of relief immediately turned to one of exasperation; he was still pretty tired, and that door looked REALLY heavy.).

Studying the door, with its inscribed scenes, he noticed something that looked vaguely familiar. There was a gem; it looked similar in shape to a black soul gem, and this was supported by the various human-looking skeletons and souls, that he could make out on the worn ebony, surrounding said gem. The odd thing, though, was that there were multiple depictions of these gems, and they were encircling the center of the door, and from each, a stream of some type of energy appeared to be issuing from them, going towards the center of the doors, where a figure was inscribed.

He squinted at the figure, but it was too worn to make out any features, except for his weapon.

It depicted a massive, wickedly curved blade, mounted on the end of a staff, and looked very similar to the farming implement, a scythe. But this scythe was, quite clearly, not meant for cutting down wheat. The various decapitated corpses around the figure attested to that.

Eleron made a mental note to himself to see how effective such a weapon might be in combat later. It certainly looked quite intimidating, and that effect itself could turn the odds in your favor. A scared or intimidated enemy is a more easily defeated one. It would take quite a bit of strength to wield it effectively, however. And he doubted there were many scythes designed for combat like that in the world. He certainly had never seen one.

Realizing he had spent too long staring at the door, likely around three minutes, Eleron shook his head, forcefully stopping his speculations, and walked up to the door.

Placing his hand upon it, he tested its weight. To his surprise, the huge door slid open at the slightest pressure he applied, but from the creaking of its ancient hinges, it was obvious that it was as heavy as it looked.

It was almost as if something far stronger than him had pulled it open for him.

He decided not to worry about _that,_ and instead focused on the room he had now entered.

It was, quite frankly, impossible.

Kolskeggr mine didn't go deep underground, and there had been no stairs down anywhere in the passages. Unless he was under High Hrothgar, and he was certain he wasn't; this room couldn't exist. It was a room that had many pillars within it, and each of the pillars went up. And up. And up some more. His night vision enchantments hadn't been able to penetrate the darkness of the enchanted corridors for more than a few feet when he and his party had been trying to leave, which had been one of the hints that they had been under the effect of some kind of magic.

Here, it penetrated the darkness quite easily.

But there was nothing there. The pillars went up so high, they faded away to less than the size of pinpricks in his vision, and they likely went even further than that. Forget the High Hrothgar thing. It couldn't fit if they were MILES underground, and beneath the mountain to boot. And the truly disturbing thing was how nothing had deteriorated here.

Everything was in perfect condition. The obsidian torches upon the pillars were lit. The macabre engravings were also in here as well, and they seemed to cover every inch of the impossibly tall pillars (He was getting right tired of those damned drawings).

Then he looked down, and nearly jumped out of his skin. There did not appear to be a floor.

He was standing on what appeared to be nothing. If something could appear to be nothing. Beneath the nonexistent yet solid floor, waves of bluish-purple energy seemed to be emanating outward from the center. As he looked up, towards the center, he noticed the energy waves got stronger, brighter, until, suddenly, they almost entirely disappeared and gave away to a black circle of nothingness. It was unnerving, and yet familiar, as if he had read a description of such a phenomenon before.

Looking back to his own feet for a moment, he stomped, hard, on the "floor."

No sound emanated, though the resistance was unyielding, and felt stronger than the strongest metal.

Then he noticed something, around where the center of the darkness was, though on his level. It looked to be some kind of altar.

There was what appeared to be a statue upon it.

It held a scythe.

Eleron decided, then and there, that he was _not _going there alone. This wasn't out of cowardice, but simple acknowledgement that a situation like this was almost certainly going to be beyond his abilities, and his Shaman might know more. Also, this looked far too much like an invitation to him. He immediately turned and started walking back to the exit.

And stopped.

There were multiple ripples occurring along the surface of the supposedly unyielding floor between him and the exit.

From them rose several skeletons.

Their bones were pitch black, and their eyes shone a bright blue.

The first to fully emerge, clad in what looked to be ancient Nordic armor, raised his weapon, a greatsword, likely to rally his troops-

And his head went flying as Eleron's sword cleanly cleaved it off. Him having charged, weapons drawn, at the first sign of black bone emerging from the nothingness.

He never understood why people stopped to stare so that the enemy could rally together, when an attack at that time would take them completely by surprise, like so.

Without pausing in his charge, he swiftly decapitated two of the other skeletons, keeping his gaze fixed upon the exit. He was no fool, he could tell from the sounds alone that these new enemies were far too numerous for him to handle by himself.

An axe came swinging out at him from the ground, but having noticed the warning ripple, he leaped over it, and landed in a roll.

Coming out of the roll, he was met by one of the numerous skeletons that lacked armor. Raising both blades, he jumped once more, crossing his blades to block the skeletons downward strike, and planted his feet, one on it's ribs, and the other on it's face, with all of his weight carried behind them.

The shock of the attack sent it flying onto its back, with its skull and ribs shattering as he smashed it into the floor with his boots.

He didn't allow even that to slow him down, as he kept running.

He heard the sound of a bow being shot, and immediately tucked into another roll. He heard the whistle of an arrow flying over his head, and as he came out of the roll, he realized he was back in the passageway, outside of the door. Immediately turning without breaking his stride, he bolted down the corridor, hearing more arrows fly past his back and hit the wall opposite the door, along with the sounds of pursuit by many, many skeletons.

Tearing around the corner, he nearly ran into his group of Forsworn, who had their weapons drawn.

He had forgotten about the ten-minute time limit he had imposed on himself.

Swiftly, he ducked the arrow one of his own, although admittedly very surprised, archers fired at him.

Shocked, one of his Ravagers said, "Eleron? Why are you running?!"

Out of breath, all he could manage was, "Beware, skeletons!"

"What-" Then they heard them.

The sound of unearthly howls, and the clicks of bones striking ebony filled the halls, as the undead horde rounded the corner in hot pursuit.

They were thankfully already in a makeshift defensive formation, with the melee-centric Forsworn covering the ranged mages and archers, but they could still only just hold their ground as the undead horde collided with them.

The Looters only barely managed to hold on against the powerful undead. Within seconds, several of them sustained serious wounds.

The Pillagers and Ravagers, on the other hand, were having the times of their lives; they had wanted a good fight for a while.

They spun like dervishes, shattering black bones and sending multiple skeletal limbs flying away from the battle.

The Archers and the Shaman, meanwhile, were pelting the enemies they could get a clear shot on with arrows and magic, respectively, though the Shaman would dart forward every now and then to heal a Forsworn who had been injured.

And once Eleron had regained a bit of his stamina, he charged back into the battle, himself.

It was not a sight many people would expect from the Forsworn, but it was another indication of Eleron's influence. He had managed in his time with the Forsworn garrison of Kolskeggr mine, to train them to be more effective in combat, and to fight more as a team.

Despite their skill, however, the horde was just too massive.

The first to fall was, surprisingly, a Pillager. As the Pillager whirled to strike down one more foe, another of the armored skeletons swung its greatsword, and the Pillager was a tenth of a second too slow to dodge. It sliced through the flesh of his neck, through his spine, and sent his head flying through the air, sending blood raining down upon the living and the dead alike.

Immediately afterwards, two Looters fell, ice spikes in the chest of one, the other with an axe wedged in his ribs. Some new enemies had joined the fray, these skeletons did not appear to have legs, and instead hovered over the ground, casting ice spells at the defenders.

An Archer died from an arrow nailing him through his left eye, and it punched all the way through his head and out to clatter off down the passageway, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Enraged at the loss of these men, Eleron kept his eyes on the undead that had killed them. And in short order, he had shattered the skull of the armored enemy who had decapitated his Pillager, removed the arms and skull of the hovering spell caster who killed the first Looter, crushed the ribcage of the other, normal skeleton who had killed the other Looter, and threw his Forsworn axe at the archer, with it lodging itself nicely in the archer's head. Swiftly, he obtained another axe from the fallen Pillager, and continued to fight to the best of his formidable ability.

Even with this display of strength, the undead numbers did not dwindle, and their attacks never let up. Another Looter fell, along with a Ravager. An Archer was rendered incapable of using his bow when an ice spike severed his right forearm. Despite this grievous wound, he simply pulled his knife, and charged into battle alongside his brethren.

Meanwhile, the horde still showed no signs of diminishing. If anything, it had increased in size.

The Forsworn were just getting too tired, injured, and their numbers were down by nearly one third.

And as if to capitalize on their impending victory, a new undead stepped through the horde into the view of the defenders.

It towered over all of the troops, both the undead, and the Forsworn. It wore armor, which appeared to be made out of the bones of dragons (Eleron recognized it since the Dragonborn had been wearing the exact same kind of armor, though this thing was a good deal bigger than even the massive Dragonborn!). It didn't appear to have a skull; in its place there was an oily darkness, with two pinpoints of light hovering in the middle, likely to serve as its eyes.

It wielded a massive battle-axe, which looked to be crafted from dragon bone as well, and it looked as if it weighed as much as any one of the Forsworn, themselves.

A Ravager, noticing this new foe, immediately went to attack it, cleaving apart all the skeletons in his path.

Eleron shouted, too late, "No! We must attack it together!"

His sword clashed against the shaft of the great axe, as his own, much smaller Forsworn axe smashed into the side of the towering enemies' armor.

The axe shattered from the force of the swing, and yet the armor where it had struck remained unscathed, as the powerful undead foe yanked its battle-axe up, catching the spines of the Forsworn blade and ripping it out of the Ravager's grasp, and raising his immense leg, kicked the Ravager onto the ground as it brought down the battle-axe with all of its might.

Several arrows and spells impacted him as the other Forsworn foresaw and attempted to stop his attack, to no avail.

The axe cleaved through flesh and bone, the sheer force behind the blow rending the Ravager into two halves, blood, gore, and other bodily fluids spattering nearly every possible surface in the passageway, including the forces of the undead and Forsworn alike.

Raising its blood-covered axe, the "eyes" of the armored monstrosity met those of Eleron for a moment before it began to loose an unearthly, ear-shattering war cry-

Before a thunder bolt and an ice spear slammed into its "skull" at the same time.

The sheer power behind the Destruction spells crashing through the undead champion's skull sent it flying back through the air around 10 feet, it's incredible weight shattering several of the other skeletons behind it to mere fragments of bone, until it smashed against the far wall of the passage and crumpled to the floor, and its body started to disintegrate into a pile of some black, unidentifiable substance.

Eleron let loose a rare grin. There was only one thing he knew of which could deliver such lethal spells with such accuracy.

There was a blur beside him as the Briarheart ran through the Forsworn defensive line and smashed into the teeming horde of the risen dead, a wraith in his own right crushing his "kin" with severe brutality.

Lightning bolts and ice spears lanced from the Briarheart's left hand, ripping holes straight through the mass of undead, destroying many of them all at once with each spell. Meanwhile, he had one of his Ebony weapons, his war axe, ready in his right hand, which shattered the weapons and bones of the Briarheart's foes as he spun amongst them.

A few spells and arrows from the ragged Forsworn defenders joined the fray; along with those from the Briarheart's own party, who had managed to finally catch up to him. Even the Breton and Nord were helping, the Nord, having obtained an ancient Nordic greatsword from the grip of a skeleton's severed arm, which had somehow ended up behind the Forsworn defense, was helping the Forsworn keep any skeletons that got around the Briarheart to attack the rest of the group, and the Breton was throwing a few mid-level Destruction spells at any ranged opponents.

However, none of the melee fighters, even Eleron, dared to charge into the horde, as when a Briarheart fights in such a way, friend and enemy alike are equally likely to be felled by his blade or spell should they get near.

The way he was, right then, made him a greater danger to the group than the skeleton army. As such, everyone wisely stayed out of his way, as the battle raged on.

Finally, the horde ceased to receive reinforcements.

There was another of the immense, dragon-bone wearing and wielding enemies, but he proved to be as little a match to the Briarheart's might as the other one. The Briarheart had simply aimed for the gaps in his armor and struck with extreme precision. Ice spears, thunder bolts, and attacks with the Ebony axe rendered him limbless within the space of three seconds, until the Briarheart stuck his fist through the thing's smoke-like head and unleashed a fireball within the confines of the armor. The burst of flame roared out of its neck as he swiftly withdrew his hand, and set a couple of the other skeletons on fire as it's head was blasted into wisps. It disintegrated into the aforementioned black substance, just like all the other undead.

Finally, the last enemy, one of the hovering spell casters, fell beneath the unforgiving Forsworn attacks.

All that was left was an absolutely immense amount of the black, gel-like substance that the undead left behind, and a scattering of Forsworn corpses, in various states of dismemberment.

Standing amongst the battlefield, the survivors swiftly healed their injuries, even the man who had lost his forearm to the ice spike, though he will obviously never be able to shoot a bow again, it was a miracle he wasn't killed in the fight, by blood loss or by one of the horde, what with him not excelling at close combat.

Eleron looked over his haggard party, and noted that they were literally at less than half of their full strength, if counting the toll both injuries and casualties exacted on them.

Seeing movement towards him out of the corner of his eye, he glanced to his left, to see the Briarheart walking towards him.

The Briarheart looked shockingly unhurt, being in the center of such a lethal battle should have at least given him SOME injury. But no, there wasn't even a scratch upon him.

While Eleron couldn't help but be envious of his power for a moment, it was only for a moment as he remembered just what the cost was for such power.

Seeing the Briarheart had just about reached him, he shook off these thoughts, as the Briarheart asked him, "Where did these undead come from, Eleron?"

Eleron replied, indicating the direction of the…..well, he had no idea what to call that place, "There's a room further down, unlike anything I've ever seen, I would describe it, but really. In this case, it's best to show you. Hopefully, that was the last of these strange-"

"Bonemen, Wrathmen, Mistmen, and Keepers."

Startled, Eleron asked, "You know what they are? Where do they come from? I've never seen skeletons such as them."

The Briarheart glanced down the hall, in the direction Eleron indicated, and said, "They are just some of the creatures from the Soul Cairn, a place many Necromancers seek to acquire powerful undead servants from, almost always unsuccessfully and with lethal consequences for the Necromancer. I'm surprised you managed to hold out until we arrived."

Eleron let out a sigh and said, "We likely wouldn't have held out much longer. It was sheer adrenaline keeping many of us alive. I can see why Necromancers try to acquire them as servants, such an army would be devastating, if you hadn't arrived we would have been annihilated. By the way, what prompted you to come for us?"

The Briarheart replied, "We ran into a cave-in, and couldn't go any further. Lucky for you, too, otherwise you'd all be dead."

Turning to survey the Forsworn group, which had almost finished healing and bandaging their wounds, the Briarheart raised his, voice, announcing, "Alright, ready your weapons, we are going to investigate the source of these enemies."

Hearing this, the Breton once more looked to his Nord companion and said, simply, "Still better than standing around and hitting a wall with a pickaxe all day."

Staring at him, the Nord said, "You just keep right on telling yourself that, I hate fighting dead people."

Before long, the now reunited Forsworn party stood before the immense doors Eleron had passed through.

Stalking forward, the Briarheart shoved them open, revealing the room Eleron had seen before.

At that, Eleron released a pent-up sigh. He had half wondered if it would still be there, he had read far too many stories of how someone had seen an amazing sight, then it had disappeared before anyone else could see it. But it was all still there, the macabre and impossibly tall pillars, the invisible "floor," the giant swirling vortex of darkness beneath, and that imposing statue with the scythe way off in the distance.

Looking around, the Briarheart affirmed what he had said earlier, "I have never heard of nor seen the like of this, save for that." He pointed at the vortex. "I've been to the Soul Cairn, and that is it's 'sky.' Though why it is here, particularly under the floor, is unknown, even to me."

He began to step out onto it, however Eleron quickly warned him of the danger, saying "Beware, that strange, transparent floor is where the skeletons spawned from. They can literally come out from any part of the floor, but there is a warning ripple just before they do so."

Pausing only for a heartbeat to process the information, the Briarheart nodded, then continued on his way, stepping right into the room, if it could be called that.

When he was about 10 paces in, he stopped, looked back to Eleron and said, "Were you able to discover what that is?" while pointing towards the distant statue.

Eleron shook his head as he followed the Briarheart into the room, "No, I didn't get much further than you before they attacked." Behind him, the other Forsworn followed him into the room. He continued, "From what I can tell, it's some sort of statue, and he looks as if he wields a scythe."

The Briarheart replied, "I noticed. It is rather hard to miss, even at this distance. Also, the door depicted just such a weapon in that figure that was inscribed upon it. It makes me think that this is a temple of some kind, devoted to the Soul Cairn. However, the Ideal Masters, the one's who control the Soul Cairn, have no physical form, so I have no idea who this might be. There is a Reaper that inhabits the Soul Cairn, but unlike this statue we are seeing, he doesn't wield a scythe, but a headsman's axe. And while the Reaper is strong, he's nowhere near the level of power a temple of this magnitude would warrant."

Eleron stared. He had just realized that this was the most the Briarheart had ever spoken; it had almost made him think that the man was alive again. However, that is impossible, so if the Briarheart was being so active, it must mean that the Hagraven who controls him is focusing a lot of her willpower upon him.

However, that wasn't what made him stare, it was the simple fact that Hagravens knew almost everything. Their dark arts granted them extreme amounts of knowledge, at the price of their humanity. If a Hagraven didn't know what was here, then whoever or _whatever_ that statue depicted must be ancient indeed. At least, ancient enough for the Hagravens to know nothing about, that or whatever knowledge there was to be had about this was eliminated ages ago.

The Briarheart started walking again, and Eleron, with a bit more reluctance than usual, followed him, and the rest of the Forsworn, along with the Nord and Breton prisoners, did the same, save for the Forsworn who had lost his right arm and a Looter, who were told by Eleron to "stay here, should anything happen, run back to the mine, get the guards there, and send them out to warn the rest of the Forsworn about this place, and to collapse the mine, if they can. The Reach is ours, and I won't allow an army of undead take it from us. Do not bother trying to assist us, if any enemy force is capable of defeating all of us, then you, no offense, wouldn't be much help."

The closer they got to the statue, the less the Breton liked the situation. He had really thought that this would be better than simply mining until his eventual death, but due to his mentor's tutelage, he had heard a bit about the Soul Cairn. Not that he studied Necromancy, but his mentor had taught him a bit about it all the same, so that he could better understand how it worked in case he needed the knowledge later on.

As such, he knew that the Soul Cairn was not a place one wanted to trifle with. A death at the hands of the Forsworn left his fate up to the gods, but here…if he died here, he may very well end up with his soul locked in the Soul Cairn for all eternity, and that was a fate he strongly wished to avoid.

And it did not help that, like the Briarheart, he knew nothing about this figure whose statue he was approaching.

He was fairly proficient in the use of Destruction magic; however, he still knew that he would never get more than one step away before he was taken down, he had witnessed the power of the Briarheart himself firsthand.

There were no options for escape right now, but hopefully, even though it was unlikely, he would have an opportunity to run later.

About 5 minutes of walking later, the group arrived at the mysterious statue.

The statue stood on a raised ebony dais, with a standing obsidian torch at each of the four corners. The dais looked like an island in the middle of a sea of nothingness, as one could see where the ebony blocks extended beneath the floor, and it was situated right over the center of the gaping darkness in the center of the swirling abyss. Several members of the party, notably the Nord and Breton, immediately stepped onto the dais, a wise move, since at any moment more undead might rise from the "floor." However, it looked as if that might not be their only reason for stepping onto the dais, if their decidedly pale and somewhat green complexions were any indication. From looking at the dais, Eleron decided that this room was likely some form of temple dedicated to the figure, especially when he saw the statue in question.

Turning his attention to the statue that stood upon the dais, Eleron, remembering his ruminations, quickly decided that he absolutely _must_ try using a scythe such as the one the statue held.

The weapon looked fiercely intimidating. The blade was not made of stone, like the statue, and its blade appeared to be made of Daedric material. No surprise, save that the strange, red glow most Daedric weapons possessed was instead the same bluish-purple color of the swirling energy in the vortex below their feet, though the blade itself kept the dark red color of the original material. The shaft was made of what appeared to be a fusion of Daedric and dragon bone. He could only guess that the ebony material, which was converted to Daedric, had been smelted down and molded around the bones. He knew it was dragon bones, as he had seen several skeletons of them. Veins with a purplish-blue glow emanating from them ran throughout it, same as the blade, save for one area where a black leather grip was attached.

And the very aura of the blade was fearsome, just standing near it made one's throat run dry, and a cold sweat broke out on the backs of everyone in the party. Strangely for such a weapon, there did not appear to be any enchantments upon it. The glow was different, but was still fairly typical of a Daedric blade. It almost seemed as if the terror of all the weapons previous victims radiated from it. And the figure that wielded the scythe looked as if he would be as imposing as the weapon, if he weren't made of stone, though the statue was so lifelike that it was doubtful any artist in the world could hope to match it. The statue wore a unique set of armor; it seemed to be a combination of robes, Daedric, dragon bone, and even some regular ebony materials.

On his right arm, which gripped the scythe, was a Daedric gauntlet, though it appeared to have been modified. There was multiple smaller dragon bones combined with it in a similar manner to the scythe's shaft, and upon the smooth surfaces of the edged, lethal-looking gauntlet were multiple macabre inscriptions (Eleron was officially sick and tired of those damnable inscriptions), and it was very likely that if it had been the actual armor, then it would have the same purplish-blue glow of the scythe. There was a sleeve that appeared to be tucked into the armor.

The rest of his armor was composed of a chest plate, right shoulder pauldron, greaves, and boots made in a similar manner to the gauntlet, though his left arm seemed to bear no armor, save for a long sleeve which looked as if it was made of silk that likely matched the other which was tucked into the gauntlet, and he was wearing a leather glove on his left hand.

Most likely, he kept it bare to use magic more efficiently, though from the shape the sleeve took, there was some form of armor, likely chainmail of a kind, beneath the sleeve. And on his left shoulder only was a cloak which went down only a few inches past his fingertips, and would likely have covered his left arm completely if his arm wasn't out in front of him, with his palm up, fingers curled like talons. He looked as if he was holding something out in front of him, though it also reminded Eleron of a time that he had seen a mage conjure up flame in his hand with just such a gesture in an attempt to intimidate his foes, however, it worked far better for whoever the statue was depicting. Especially since that mage was ripped to pieces moments later.

Basically, it looked as if the armor he wore, save for the possible chainmail, was covering a kind of silk shirt, and covering his head, instead of a helmet, was a hood which appeared to be a part of the shirt, it was curved down in front of his forehead and since he was looking down, his eyes couldn't be seen, and the hood tapered to a point that closely resembled the beak of a bird of prey.

From what could be seen of his face, he wore a facemask, and it looked as if it would be made of ebony. However, when Eleron (along several of the other Forsworn, the Nord and Breton were preoccupied with gawping at the scythe, and the Briarheart was frowning at the statue as if trying to divine it's origins by glaring at it hard enough) stooped down to see the rest of his face, they saw that the mask stopped over his nose, with his eyes unexposed.

The realism was uncanny. Unlike most statues, which were typically expressionless due to the difficulty of creating them, it was clear that the sculptor had been trying specifically to recreate the subject perfectly.

The eyes, despite being made of cold stone, seemed to radiate pain, anger, and some other, unidentifiable emotion…compassion?

Frowning, Eleron shook off that thought; compassion couldn't be it, this was a figure that had clearly caused immense amounts of death and destruction, or at least represented death itself.

Looking over the rest of his face that he could see, Eleron decided that he couldn't tell what race the figure was. He just couldn't see enough facial features to tell, though he thought he seemed more likely to not be a Mer, from what he could tell.

His analysis of the figure was interrupted by one of the Forsworn, a Pillager, who had apparently decided on trying to take the scythe from the statue's grip. Stepping forward before anyone could gather their wits to stop him, he reached out to grasp the shaft of the great scythe.

Eleron, being quicker than most, even the Briarheart, had long since determined that the scythe was likely a trap, and managed to shout, "No!" while rushing forward to stop the Pillager, but he was far too late.

The Pillager wrapped his hand around the black leather grip of the great scythe, and the effect was immediate.

He went absolutely still, as a bluish and green energy lanced out from the scythe, spreading throughout his body within a second.

As the group watched in shock, including Eleron, who had realized the futility of his action and skidded to a halt, the man's body began to deteriorate.

Blood began to drain from the Pillager from wounds that appeared from nowhere; however, the blood never reached the floor.

The crimson liquid instead seemed to lift off of his skin, and flowed up, into the blade of the scythe, where it seemed to vanish. As the scythe seemed to "drink" the blood of the unfortunate Pillager, a pulse, similar to a heartbeat, could be heard.

A delayed, hoarse scream ripped out from the doomed Pillager's throat, mere seconds before he was bled dry, a mere skeleton with a thin layer of skin stretched over it, and his sightless eyes staring wide-eyed at nothing. Even after he was dead, the scream echoed throughout the massive space. Then he crumpled to the floor, and the sound of now-brittle bones snapping could be clearly heard.

The pulsing sound reverberated throughout the immense, otherworldly "temple," and the Forsworn all drew their weapons, including the Nord and the Breton. Somehow, all of them could tell that it was a call, a warning.

The Breton was the first to see them.

As he looked in the direction from which they came, his eyes widened, he pointed, and shouted, "There! They're over there!"

In between them and the exit rose rows upon rows of the undead, countless numbers of them. An Archer shouted, "They aren't just there, they're on all sides!"

It was true. An entire army had spawned from essentially nowhere, on every side of the altar, facing towards the Forsworn exploration group.

Not even Eleron knew what to do, there were just too many of them. Likely over a hundred times the size of the horde that had chased him. Only the Briarheart seemed mostly at ease, his war axe once again in his right and lightning crackling in his left, but he was not looking at the enemy, instead, he was calmly watching the statue.

Meanwhile, the legion of undead had yet to charge, instead, they seemed to be organizing themselves. There were six of the regular skeletons, the Bonemen, 4 of the hovering spellcasters, the Mistmen, and one of the armored skeletons, the Wrathmen, composing each of the innumerable groups they formed themselves into. Four of the six Bonemen were equipped with melee weapons of multiple varieties, and stood in a line, with the Wrathman standing in the middle of the line. The other two were equipped with bows, and stood just behind the line, on the outer edges of the line, with the Mistmen standing in between them.

Even the giants in the dragon bone armor, Keepers, were there, and as Eleron analyzed the enemy forces, he noticed that one stood at the front of every fifth group of undead. Just them alone would be more than enough to annihilate the Forsworn, regardless of the fact that the Briarheart had already killed two with ease. There were just that many enemies.

One of the Looters, about half a minute too late, shouted out the incredibly obvious fact. "IT'S A TRAP!"

Looking at the undead forces between them and the exit, the Nord sarcastically replied, without turning back to the Looter, "No, you think? I wouldn't have guessed, despite the undead horde standing all around us."

Eleron, also looking back in the direction from which they had come, ignored the Nord, and addressed the Briarheart, while attempting to figure out a strategy for escape.

"Do you think we could blast a line through the forces between here and the exit, using all of our magic abilities combined? It's doubtful that it'll work, but we have to get out of here, before the undead decide to atta-"

Before he could finish speaking, the Briarheart cut him off, saying, "They aren't what we need to be worrying about right now. They are just spectators."

Eleron, confused, turned to ask what he meant, but the question died in his throat as he saw exactly what he was talking about.

The "heartbeat" sound had started to pick up its pace, unnoticed by all except the Briarheart due to the distraction of the legion's arrival. The others in the group had spread out around the dais, and had been facing outward towards the enemy army, which contributed to their lack of attention towards the statue.

In time with the beat, a red pulse of life energy thrummed throughout the statue, rising and falling in intensity.

The other Forsworn, and the prisoners, turned towards the Briarheart as well, having heard what he said, and similarly to Eleron, were now staring in shock at the statue.

The pulsing got so fast, that one could almost not differentiate between one beat and the next.

Until, suddenly, it stopped entirely.

Then the fingers on the statue's left hand, ever so slowly, and with the sound of cracking stone, started to curl even more, until they were clenched into a fist.

Then the statue's head moved, looking up from its fist, once again as slowly as possible, very likely due to the immense amount of effort it must be taking to move, due to its skin being made of stone.

However, that looked as if it wouldn't be a problem for much longer. As they watched, the stone seemed to…fade away. Where there was gray stone before, instead there was armor, just as Eleron had imagined it would look.

Looking back up to its, or rather _his, _face, Eleron's heart nearly stopped. The man's eyes glowed the exact same bright, bluish-purple color from the vortex, similarly to his armor and weapons, however, that wasn't what frightened Eleron about them. It was the complete reversal in his expression.

Where before, there had been anger, pain, and the other, unidentifiable emotion, here, in an odd twist, there were no emotions shown upon his face. A cold, calculating intelligence gleamed at him from behind the bright, sharp gaze.

As he slowly scanned the group, his eyes temporarily came to rest on Eleron.

There was no cruelty. There was no arrogance. There was nothing in his gaze, save for that mechanical intelligence. It was as if he had possessed more humanity when he was statue, than as a living being, and now had more in common with one of the Dwarven automatons than anything.

And he was most definitely living; the sound of him breathing could be heard, as well as the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Unlike his army, he was not an undead.

The man finally continued to scan the party, breaking eye contact with Eleron, who finally exhaled. He hadn't even noticed that he had held his breath until he released it.

Once he finished his survey, the man with the scythe turned his attention fully onto the Briarheart, who stood a few feet away.

He looked as if he was about to speak, judging from his posture and the short intake of breath-

Then the Briarheart struck.

It all happened in less than five seconds.

One moment the Briarheart was suddenly dashing forward, lightning erupting from his left hand as he swung the axe at the head of the scythe-wielder, every movement a blur…

But the man with the scythe was far faster.

With his gloved hand, he _caught _the thunder bolt, while his right arm moved faster than the eye could see, spinning the massive scythe over his head, bringing it around to slice straight through the Briarheart's right forearm while he was still halfway through his swing, sending both arm and axe flying in an arc straight over the man's head.

Before the Briarheart could even manage to notice his arm was missing (the stump was still moving as if he was continuing his swing with the war axe), the man thrust out his left hand that had caught the thunder bolt, channeling the energy of the Briarhearts magical attack against him, and also adding his own. The electricity's very color changed, changing from a normal whitish-blue to crimson, right before his palm smashed into the stomach of the Briarheart, releasing the pent-up energy.

The back of the Briarheart exploded as the crimson bolts blasted through his body, hurling him back, over the heads of the entire Forsworn party, to land in a heap around 30 feet behind them. One of the five, _five,_ bolts smashed into a Ravager, vaporizing his entire upper body, while the rest missed the party though only because many of them had hurled themselves down to the ground at the first sign of movement, including Eleron.

As they scrambled to get into attack positions, the man simply stood there, having returned to his original posture, and waited.

Eleron, standing at the front of the quickly formed formation, despite his own fear eating away at his resolve, had finally had enough with dealing with an unknown enemy.

Gathering his willpower, he forced himself to shout at the figure, "Who are you?!"

Surprise, likely at being addressed in such a way, flitted across the man's face for a short moment, the only emotion that he had expressed since awakening.

Tilting his head to one side slightly, he examined Eleron once again.

Eleron couldn't help but swallow; the man had just killed a Briarheart with ease, and one of the strongest ones, at that. Even the Dragonborn had not been able to kill the previous Briarheart of Kolskeggr mine that fast, in fact, it had taken him a full minute of combat to come out victorious, and he had been somewhat injured in the endeavor.

The man, seeming to have finished his examination, once again took a breath, though he paused, raking his gaze over the group as if to dare them to attack again, seeing no takers, he answered Eleron's question.

"My name is Volmaaral."

**Author's Note: I was planning to release this awhile back, but due to college constraints, I wasn't able to manage it. I tried to address the problems present in the previous chapter, however I am not sure that I got them all. And if you got bored while I was describing Volmaaral's armor and weapon, sorry about that, I had a certain look I wanted to give him, but it's difficult to describe without going into too much detail. Let's just say he was influenced in terms of his weapon and armor by several different characters from other games, notably Ezio Auditore from Assassin's Creed (the hood and cloak are clear references to Assassins Creed, and he has the ability to parkour like Ezio, though that may not come into play often), Hawke from Dragon Age 2(the way he had one arm less armored came from Hawke), Death from Darksiders 2(he got the scythe and mask concept from him), and Arumat P. Thanatos from Star Ocean: The Last Hope (Combat Style heavily influenced by him), and finally Alex Mercer from [Prototype](Mercer is the reason I decided on creating a fanfiction featuring an extremely overpowered character, in terms of sheer physical strength, Volmaaral could be considered Mercer's equal, or possible better, depending on the circumstances, and that's just physical strength, his magic is even more potent). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and that you will be looking forward to the next chapter! It will likely be up in around two or three weeks, but that amount could change at any time… so be sure to leave a review so that I know what to fix for the next chapter!**


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